Pain & Healing

Hurt people hurt people.

When you care about people and they get hurt, it hurts. Period. Nobody has ownership of pain. Trauma holds pain.

No, trauma creates pain. People sometimes do horrible things because they are in pain.

Recently, one of my beloved team members was hurt in one of the lockup facilities that we work in. The facilitator is fine and safe as is the co-facilitator of the class.

We are all sad and angry that someone we care about was compromised.

We are mad that people on our team had to go through this.

We are heartbroken that the kid that did this had no control.

We are heartbroken that what we know can happen, actually did happen.

You see, we so believe in the work and the kids we serve that, while we know this is a possibility lurking in the background, we don’t think about it or think it could or would happen. 

This week, it happened.

We were lucky no one was badly hurt or in the hospital, but the emotional pain is significant.

The easiest thing would be to stop. We could say, this is too much. Say it is not worth it. The deep trauma of the youth we serve and their pain manifested into a dark reality this week. It hurt beyond belief. The easiest thing would be to say, “No more!” and to stop believing in what we do and to say.

“Whatever!” We could say, “There is no hope. It’s not worth it.”

Instead, we love. We breathe. We cry. We talk. We learn.

I try to take care of my team the way I take care of my family.

My family takes care of me.

I ask my students, “What should I do?” “Help me.” “My heart is aching.”

They have a lot to say. They are compassionate. They are wise. They, too, are hurting. 

“What happened to the kid?” they ask.

“You know, Ms. The kid probably was never treated for his pain, never given tools for his anger,” she answers with a lot of compassion, bordering on anger.

“These systems fuck our kids; they don’t take care of our kids. Ms., you know this. Right?” 

She is almost yelling at me. She is a new student. This is the first time she met me. I calmly listen. Someone says to her, “She knows, Mija.” He looks at me and then at her.

“She (points at me) has been doing the work for a long time. She has been inside. She knows.”

I smile. There is a lot of chatter. Lots of opinions. I do know. 

At the same time, I don’t know. What do I know, I think to myself.

What I do know is that all week, since this happened, I can physically feel my heart hurting. I also know that broken hearts can heal. I know that with love and compassion the deepest of wounds can see the light. When class is over, the new student waits for me. She apologizes. 

“I am sorry. I was aggressive,” she said to me.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand.

“No,” she said. “I am compassionate about this. This is really important to me. It’s my boys, my sons, my brothers. I ….” 

I look at her, I lean in. 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

She is surprised. We embrace for a long moment.

“I am really sorry,” she says. “It isn’t you.” 

“I know,” I say.

“I am really sorry for your teacher,” she says. 

“I know,” I say.

“You know, it isn’t your people. It isn't your teachers. I know they are good people. It’s so much more. That’s why I am pissed as fuck.” 

“I know,” I tell her. “That doesn’t make it easy,” I add.

I sit in my car and cry. Crying sometimes is a way to ease the pain.

Change rarely happens the way you want it to. It doesn’t look the way we think it will. It is painful. It is filled with trauma. 

The youth who has had so much trauma in his life unknowingly inflicted trauma on my amazing team members. We take our pain; we walk through it. We continue the work. We try to continue to believe in our convictions. We hold on to our dreams. We try to heal.

Some will say “I told you this would happen.” This incident will strengthen their uneducated bias and the ridiculous thought that we should punish kids for the actions that resulted from their trauma as opposed to teaching them tools to manage their trauma.

As a team, we continue to show up. We come to class. We go behind the walls.

I could not be prouder of the people who work for and with me.

They are fearless justice warriors. Together, we try to heal.

I went with them to their classes. I spent hours behind the walls.

I was in meetings, understanding, asking questions, creating the change I want to see.

We touch the pain, theirs and ours. My team is loved. They are hugged. They are also met with some indifference. You see trauma and indifference are besties.

One man in a different class tells us how he doesn’t have role models. He has no one to teach him. My facilitator, the same one that was hurt, teaches him. My other facilitator, the one who was in the room when it happened, teaches young women who also carry an abundance of trauma in their hearts.  

Both my team members continue to work even though no one would blame them if they stopped. They have grace, they have courage, and such beautiful hearts, such incredibly beautiful hearts.

We hurt. We cry. We teach. We heal. We do not walk away.

We ask for change. We create change. We love and then we love some more.

We sit in the pain and then we heal.

Those of us who do, pray.

We show up. We do the work and we believe.

We never stop believing, even if we pause for a moment. 

That is what we do with the pain, so it can heal.